


Once More But Scarred

by ChipperSmol



Series: ShitlordAU [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, ghost is a gleeful nuisance, shitlordAU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27143534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChipperSmol/pseuds/ChipperSmol
Summary: So I have this AU i've created over on tumblr and the gist of it is that Ghost was thrown back in time and instead of immediately deciding to fix everything they've made it their goal to make the Pale King's life as shitty as possible through endless pranks and hinderances. Instead of going by Ghost they go by the Feral Vessel since they emerged with the Pure Vessel and haven't taken any effort to hide their personality.It started out has a really funny thing but it's dipped into that juicy "not everything is how it seems" meat.I've decided to just use this fic as a place to put all the drabbles I write for this AU.Previously Titled "The Queen's Glade"
Series: ShitlordAU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981340
Comments: 112
Kudos: 795





	1. The Queen's Glade

**Author's Note:**

> If you're lost at all I have a whole bunch more posts on my tumblr in the shitlordAU tag that could help clear up a few things!: https://chipper-smol.tumblr.com/tagged/shitlordAU

Was their ire and spiteful nature exclusively directed at the Pale King? Some retainers of the palace would say yes. Others would object and say it extended to the Five Great Knights as well since Ogrim had yet to hold onto his charm for longer than a day and Hegemol continued to wield a pole instead of a mighty hammer.

Well if you asked the source, they would simply stare at you silently, but you might get the impression that they had strong opinions (a wild thing for a vessel to have) on a few individuals other than the King. 

Which is why the Feral Vessel is currently running for their life with the Great Nailmaster Sly hot on their back.

“Give it back you impetuous brat!” Sly roars behind them as he bounces off the walls at unfathomable speeds. Ghost, now going by Feral, is only surviving thanks to their knowledge of Sly’s moves from the Godseeker’s Pantheons. Sly’s jumps are still wildly unpredictable to them, but their now longer legs help them meet the speed needed to dodge the flea’s grabs.

Why are they doing this in the first place?

Well because when a rule is made that the Feral Vessel isn’t allowed a nail in the palace, or in any location in Hollownest, the only reasonable way to follow that rule, if you are said Feral Vessel, is to obtain nails of increasing ridiculous sizes. They first took their sibling’s old nail after the Pure Vessel grew out of it, and then they continued from there. They thought of borrowing Sheo’s nail for a day, but they quickly realized after finding the three Nailmasters that they were still the three Nailstudents. They were adorable but small and didn’t have their nails.

So Sly was there and Feral had some lingering rage left over from the Pantheons and well, the decision wasn’t hard to make. Two aspids with one stone. Now they were finding out that conceptualizing that plan and executing that plan were completely different things. 

How do they get him off their back!? They already tried losing him through the maze that is the White Palace but they could not build any distance between them and Sly to make the endless corners and hallways useful. They need something- anything-

A-HA! One of Hornet’s web traps! (ingenious sticky things that clung ruthlessly to the clothing of the royals that walked this palace.)

Feral musters up their soul to push themself into one last burst of speed. They dash over the top of the trap just as they hear Sly zooming right at their back. With a twist of their leg and a firm grip on the oversized nail they spin at the last moment and swat the flea with his own nail into the poorly hidden nest of sticky silk.

The indignant yell of rage made that whole marathon worth it.

Not wanting to squander their momentary freedom from Sly’s wrath, they quickly turn and hightail it out of there.

Left. Straight. Left. Right. Straight. Straight. Up. Up. Right. Left-

That should be enough, right? Feral slows down and leans against a wall to catch their breath. Great Pale Beings they have not felt that much adrenaline since the first time they danced with Grimm. They were safe, for now. Feral straightens up, adjusts the greatnail onto their back and looks around.

...

They glance back from where they came.

Where... is this? They know the palace like the back of their hand, even without the buzzsaws. This corridor isn’t familiar. There is only one open doorway with a shining pale light gently leaking into the tiled hallway. Curious yet cautious they approach. They had a sharp greatnail after all.

They step into the light and freeze as they see the towering form of the Queen leaning like a drifting tree over a lush bush. Her back was turned to them, maybe they could-

_“Vessel,”_ her voice, even though a whisper is loud enough to seem like she’s speaking at normal volume. Feral had noticed that with all of the higher and pale beings they’ve known. They all whisper.  


Still, they had conflicting feelings toward their mother that they hadn’t yet put into words. They were avoiding her. They still want to avoid her.

_“Come, garden with me,”_ she says, not lifting her head an inch from her work. Feral itches to disobey, but the urge feels wrong. It doesn’t carry the same gleeful note that comes with directly ignoring the King’s orders. They don’t have a solid reason to dislike their mother and it doesn’t feel right to force one either.

It’s not often they feel hesitant, but the Queen has a fae-like air about her. She could hide cruel remarks in what seem to be compliments. They had seen her pick apart arguments to the letter until her opponent had nothing else to say. She wields her words like she would a nail, and a battlefield of diction is an area Feral is massively lacking in. Hopefully she doesn’t want much. Hopefully she wants them to retrieve some confusing herb or something.

Carefully, they enter the room— a green house— and slowly make their way over to the White Lady’s side. They peer over at what she’s tending to. It looks like a bundle of dozens of little blue buds. Her hands glow underneath and the flowers respond by drifting up gradually and opening their delicate petals.

Feral watches quietly.

_“They are not what they make themself appear to be,”_ she says after a long pause. Feral tenses. She reaches to her side where a basket of tools hangs from a kingsmould that Feral didn’t realize was there and picks up a humorously small pair of scissors compared to her massive hands. She carefully begins to snip the bases of those small flowers, collecting them in one hand as they fall, _“My senses may be fading as things do with time, but I am not yet so blind to see that they know things that they should not.”_

Feral never tried to hide their emotions and personality when they emerged from the Abyss, but they found themself smothering their nervousness before it could leak out of them.

_“… they are nervous?”_ The Queen finally turns to look at Feral with her slightly glassy blue eyes, _“I did not intend my words to be a threat, but their reaction proves my thoughts correct.”_

Feral maintains as much eye contact as they can before turning their gaze to the floor. The full force of a pale being’s attention wasn’t a thing most bugs could endure. She watches them. Silent. Considering.

_“It is odd. I have wanted children of my own for so long, yet what I have received from this world is curious,”_ she turns back to the blue flowers and snips two more into her hand, _“one offspring that is meant to be empty, yet wishes to be a child, and one offspring that acts like a child, yet has experienced more than a child should have.”_

Feral feels an odd twisting in their gut. They want to leave, yet they now also want to stay. The Queen is perceptive, that was never a doubt and perhaps another reason why they avoided her. The fear of being known. Yet… now they are known and it’s more of a relief than anything. They slowly look back to her as she places the scissors back in the basket.

_“I have wondered why, but I cannot come to a conclusion that satisfies me,”_ she places three flowers in her spare hand and begins to braid the stems, adding flowers as the braids start becoming short.

_“Why do they hold their branch as if it were the familiar handle of a nail? Even though they are forbidden from holding their own?”_ More flowers are added into the craft she is making. It’s beginning to look circular. Feral watches quietly.

_“How do they know to get charms and spells on their own?”_ She glances over at them, but doesn’t meet their eyes. They sense her gaze on their horns. She looks back down at the flowers and makes some sort of adjustment.

_"Why do they stare at things that are not there?”_ Feral’s throat tightens with that question- or observation?

The Queen finally finishes whatever is in her hands and takes a step over to the Feral Vessel and leans down with an alien-like grace. Feral blinks as she threads the circle of flowers over their horns to then rest right at the base of their horns. They do not know why she is doing this, but they would not dare fight it. They have no desire to.

Her hands drift down from their horns to their face to gently cup and hold. Their eyes gently flutter. The warmth from her root palms seep into their mask as if they were sitting in a hot spring. With the warmth comes a feeling of peace. Understanding. Their eyes close and before they can catch themselves they lean into her touch. They miss how her eyes soften as she rubs one of her thumbs against their temple.

_“I thought I had been mistaken before, but I have noticed that their pranks on my beloved Wyrm have grown half hearted,”_ Feral’s chest sags in a mock-sigh and, not knowing why, they nod.

_“Has the novelty of his frustrated yells gone stale?”_ They shake their head, shoulders lightly quivering as if laughing. They crack their eyes open to catch the end of a smile from their mother.

_“Why is it then? Why have they lost their fire?”_

Feral stays silent as that was all they can do, but the tightening of their brow and the way they pull away from the warm comfort of their mother’s hands speaks hundreds of unspoken words. They glance at their hands, clenching and unclenching them. 

When they re-awoke at the bottom of the Abyss surrounded by the thousands of masks of their dead siblings they thought they had dream nailed the black egg at the bottom of the Abyss again, though they did not know how. Soon they realized after getting to the top alongside their sibling that it was not a dream, but reality. To their delight, they could act on their spans of anger and spite they had toward the Pale King.

They thought that once they had their fun they would go and defeat the Radiance by finding the Godseeker in the trash pit. They would scale the pantheons and destroy the infection before the Pure Vessel was sentenced to waste away in the Temple of the Black Egg. It was simple so they didn’t think hard about it.

Until they realized they didn’t have the dream nail. They stressed for a bit, but then thought they could go find the seer and ask for it again! When they made their way to the Resting Grounds however, her little burrow was nowhere to be seen. They truly panicked then, scouring Hollownest for any moths they could find, but the few ones they found were not the Seer. When they held up their, admittedly, crude drawings of the dream nail they were met with confused stares.

They felt scared, frustrated, anger, desperation and then numbness.

They had been trying to run away from these thoughts, but now they were back and plainly showing on their face for the Queen to read like a tablet. There is a long silence between them before her melody-like voice whispers once more.

_“Do they know how to write?”_ She asks.

They shake their head. No. They barely knew how to read and that was from noticing patterns in the tablets and signs they stumbled across in Hollownest. The Queen stands up and with her Feral’s eyes follow.

_“I will teach you my child. Come, and perhaps while you learn you may give me your name. Feral is such a harsh word to be called by.”_

Feral watches the White Lady as she walks deeper into the greenhouse. Did she just… say she was going to teach them how to write? They would never have a voice to speak on their own with, but to have the power of script in their grasp…

Excitement sparks their step as they quickly run back to her side, looking up at her with such strong wonder that she can’t believe she ever doubted her offspring weren’t hollow. The crown of flowers bounce on their head with each eager step.

_“Now it will take some time for us to get the right writing utensils, but perhaps the first thing you could tell me when you can write is how you got that massive nail on your back.”_


	2. The Courtyard Spar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghost experiences the Cain Instinct

Ghosts legs took them to the sparring grounds located at the base of the palace where the Five Great Knights spent their spare time teaching the new recruits how to properly wield a nail. Some days, however, those training sessions were canceled. The reason for that was so the Pure Vessel could be taught privately. The King wanted to keep their existence a secret and perhaps took great lengths to make sure the Feral Vessel wouldn’t spill that secret, but that was a story for another time.

As they walk into the yard their presence is quickly known. Ogrim notices first and bellows his usual greeting, alerting Dryya and Ze’mer. Ghost is quietly glad Hegemol is nowhere to be seen, they lost the bug that doubled as his mace. Their sibling slowly turned as they deemed the action fair for a supposed hollow thing to make.

Ogrim struck up a one-sided conversation with them immediately, talking about charms or something but Ghost isn’t paying attention. Their gaze is glued to their siblings.

They walk closer and closer until they enter the sparring court. Ghost reaches up and brandishes their- branch. Branchishes?

Unlike their previous confiscated branches this one is a pale white and it would take a daft fool to not immediately recognize it as a branch from the Queen’s body. Confusion sparks briefly through the three knights. How did they get that? More pressingly, did they hurt the Queen? Dryya begins to step forward, but is cut off by Ghost suddenly shifting into an offensive stance.

The Pure Vessel responds to their challenge as a hollow thing should when threatened.

Oh shit they’re fast.

Ghost barely brings up their nail- branch in time to block the first harsh blow. The sharp edge bounces harmlessly off the pale wood they wield. The force behind the blow threw them off balance, giving their sibling a clear shot at their abdomen.

Ogrim winces as void splashes across the battlefield, “Shouldn’t we stop them?”

Dryya huffs with her arms crossed adamantly across her chest, “No. _It_ started this, perhaps its most foolish idea yet. Let it face the consequences of its actions for once.”

“Le’mer, the two will hurt themselves…”

“Let them wyrmdamnit. I doubt that Feral Vessel will be able to land a single scratch on the Pure Vessel. With my training there’s no way its going to lose to that chaotic thing.”

“ _Our_ training- but it seems you are correct. This duel is very one sided,” Ogrim says with a hint of unease as he scratches his chin.

It's true. Not once had the Feral Vessel gone on the defensive, stuck between dodging, blocking or taking another blow. They were sporting several void leaking wounds across their shell and their cloak had seen better days, yet the pale branch remained flawless. 

Ghost find themself being forced past the edge of the court, but aren’t able to register the danger of it. They don’t see how their sibling is about to corner them against the wall of the palace until it is too late. They dash backwards and slam into the cold stone walls. Their lapse in concentration allows the Pure Vessel the perfect opening to strike and down their nail comes.

**_CRACK_ ** ****

Ghost stumbles against the wall as their vision flashes white with pain. They faintly see Ogrim start forward only to be pulled back by a stubborn Dryya.

Was that enough?

They check the only charm they equipped.

No???

That felt like three masks of damage!

Pure stands over them, nail at the ready yet— not striking. That sickening crack froze them in their tracks. They quickly rationalized the reaction as the threat being neutralized, but they couldn’t explain why they suddenly felt sick.

Ghost would groan if they could, but instead they shudder silently. Particles of void leak out of their mask yet it thankfully stays together. They can’t see out of their left eye, but it should be fine. They’ve fought worse battles under worse conditions.

After the first two hits they started to recognize their sibling’s fighting patterns from long ago in the Pantheons. The attacks were simpler, but much faster as Pure had less mass to move with each strike. After two more hits Ghost was dodging like they did back in the Pantheons. The speed boost wasn’t enough to completely throw them off their game, but they still needed to get hit, so they let themself get hit.

And they need one more.

They force their aching body to stand up straight and they grip their branch once more in challenge.

Pure hesitates for a split second before they crouch into a sharp stance and slash a wide arc right at their sibling. Ghost doesn’t need a hit this massive so they flinch back just enough for the sharp nail to graze their thigh.

And like a charm (because it is) a red aura materializes around them and their branch. 

Fury of the Fallen met its condition to flare into action. Ghost feels the pain in their limbs go numb and their nai-branch feels inexplicably more dangerous in their grip. They flash into action with a sudden dash forward that catches their sibling off guard. Their branch smacks harshly against Pure’s right side and forces them off balance.

Pure retreats instead of trying to refind their balance. They teleport a quick length away and stare at their sibling, evaluating what just happened with hidden confusion. Their side _throbs_ from the blow of that branch. They observe the Feral Vessel stand up straight once more and something about their stance makes Pure tense.

Their sibling holds themself casually, shoulders relaxed and arms down at their sides, but they weren’t slouching nor was the grip on their branch loose. Pure realizes quickly that they had underestimated their sibling. The Feral Vessel wasn’t unskilled or clumsy, _they were studying the Pure Vessel’s moves_. They hold that branch like a weighted nail. Their focus is sharp. The red glow around them- that formed only after they were damaged to the precipice of breaking- _They allowed themself to get hit._

Pure settles into a defensive stance. They miscalculated. They would not do that again.

Ghost brushes off a lingering particle of void from their cloak. Pure teleports forward while they assume their sibling is distracted but are surprised when their downward slash is parried with a startling loud ring from their mother’s branch. Ghost surges forward and once again Pure loses their balance and can’t react when the branch thwacks against their leg.

Pure calls on their reserve of soul and teleport away once more in a flash of light before teleporting again behind the Feral Vessel. They hold their arm out and let their shell dissolve for a split second to unleash an unrestrained fury of void tendrils. Feral surprises them by spinning around on a dime and jumping. As they were about to fall they bring the branch down once more and somehow parry themself into the air off of the void tendrils.

The tendrils threaten to pull out too far so Pure has to bring them back- but they forgot that reforming their shell would take a precious moment of time. They see their sibling dashing forward and try to mimic what they saw before by holding their nail up in a parry, but they are too slow.

**_KRICK_ **

****

The branch comes harshly down against the Pure Vessel’s head and gifts them a crack similar to the one adorning Ghost’s mask. Void spurts out of the wound and Pure’s head throbs with a deep pain.

And suddenly the Feral Vessel stops.

Their branch drops out of their suddenly slack grip as their chest tightens hard.

They were back in the Temple of the Black Egg, staring at the Hollow Knight knelt before them, weighed down with the infection. The crack Ghost so generously gave to their sibling was a striking resemblance to the one they would bear in the future. 

They see the tortured orange eyes, the shaking limbs and the horrific sound of their pained gasps that they shouldn’t have been able to make. It scratches their hearing and lingers like an uncomfortable deep itch.

The Hollow Knight forces themself up on their nail from their downed position. Never had Ghost fought an opponent that got _weaker_ as they battled. Watching The Hollow Knight inch forward and strike out to only collapse forward twisted Ghost’s soul mournfully.

They couldn’t deal the final blow.

They fled to the godseekers for they promised another way.

The infection was bolstered to an entirely different level for a short day before the void choked it from the inside-out.

Ghost comes back to the present too late as they see the flash of a nail whip in front of their eyes. 

Their form finally falls as their mask cleaves in two. For the first time since they arrived in the past they drift freely as a shade. They look down at their sibling with their pale white eyes and are startled to see a matching shade.

What?

From the knight’s point of view, they saw the Pure Vessel finish the job they started and then suddenly clutch their own head in pain. Their mask split not too soon after their sibling’s did.

They both stare at each other.

This is going to be hard to explain to the King.

Oops.

“What on Wyrm’s sacred ground just happened?!” Dryya demands from the sidelines.


	3. Learning how to Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghost struggles with writing words because they feel like they aren't getting anywhere.

_“Move your wrist, not your arm,”_ their mother coos over their shoulder, _“like this.”_

Ghost watches as the Queen’s massive root hand dip down with the elegance of a dancer and pluck the wing quill out of their fisted hand. She places it between her thumb and pointer finger with a little bit of support from the middle finger. It sits comfortably in her grip and allows her to write a script so gorgeous Ghost can’t fathom how she does it.

_Farmer Jack realized that big yellow quilts were expensive._

They squint at the words when she finishes, recognizing all of the letters, since thats what the both of them spent the last week learning, but some of the words weren’t familiar.

They point to Jack and look up.

They were currently sitting on their mother’s lap and they had been doing this for a couple of days now. At the beginning of these sessions the Queen simply let Ghost sit on top of the table as she was instructing them, but after a while the angle of them craning their neck and back started to make their spine ache. Ever omniscient, the Queen scooped them up one day and deposited them on her layer covered lap. They were startled but then quickly melted into the wonderful warmth she always emits. Now she always places them up on her lap and neither of them wish to do anything else.

_“Jack is a name,”_ she explains simply, _“you can recognize names in script if they are capitalized even though they aren’t at the beginning of a sentence.”_

Ghost absorbs the information enthusiastically. They were a creature of void after all and consuming practically anything was in their nature.

They point to quilt and look up again. The Queen hums.

_“A quilt is a thick bed covering, normally stitched together with a soft center with two pieces of fabric on both sides. They can be functional or decorative,”_ Ghost can tell that their mother doesn’t mind their questions with how readily she provides answers. 

Because they spent almost all of their life without the ability to speak or communicate they became a very good listener. With being a good listener comes the ability to pick out emotions with expertise. They remember looking forward to Quirrel’s words of wonder whenever they discovered him in a new part of Hallownest. They remember getting annoyed at Tiso’s haughty and snooty attitude- and at Zote, but ten times more annoyed. Basically, they learned that bugs had such a variety of expression and emotion that they themselves couldn’t show, so in a round about way they became an expert at picking out subtle expressions like twitches of a brow or crinkle of an eye.

After spending more time around the Queen they were able to pick apart her body language like any other bug with an aptitude even she would be impressed by. The way her slightly glassy eyes sparkled, how she let her shoulders relax and how her roots subtly stretched.

They could tell she was having fun, and with her having fun Ghost had no issues with asking more questions.

They point to expensive.

_“When something costs quite a lot of Geo, usually you use this word for items that are luxury goods.”_

Oh they knew that one- so thats what that looks like? Ghost leans over and memorizes the word, planning to slap it on Sly’s house when they get the chance. That fly lantern should _not_ have been as much as it was priced at.

Ghost casts one quick glance over the sentence- they notice it uses all of the characters that they’ve been taught. The word farmer is capitalized because its at the beginning of a sentence and farmer is a bug job where they make food. Yellow is a color. They nod their understanding and hold their hand open for the quill again.

Their mother places it in their palm and rests her hands across their lap. Her massive sleeves feel like a big blanket. It makes them feel happy fuzzy inside.

They wish they could say that to her.

But they can now!

… Once they learn how to write it.

They look at the quill in their right hand. Maybe they can hold it like she did instead of balling their fist around the base. They pluck the thin wing part of it with their left hand and maneuver it into place- stiff stalk resting on their pointer finger- let the thumb support it…

It feels so insecure. Ghost is a bit scared that they’ll break the quill like this.

_“Oh! Were you watching how I held the quill? You clever child,”_ she coos over their head and like a miracle the building anxieties are wiped away like dust on a windowsill.

They dip the tip of the quill in the ink like they were taught, gently tapping it against the side to rid it of the excess before bringing it over to the paper. Paper was a very valuable thing and Ghost was surprised to see something like it for the first time. It was so thin yet surprisingly durable!

Ghost begins to write.

Instantly they notice that with this grip they have better movement of their wrist like their mother hinted at, but they also notice that it’s a lot harder to control.

Their F is a mess. It looks like a T with a slash through the middle. They huff.

_“Keep going, we’ll come back to it later,_ ” their mother says. They nod, right.

The rest of the word isn’t difficult with the reference of the sentence above. Ghost never realized how hard it was to keep things on a straight line. Their letters are all different sizes too and inconsistent.

Next is Jack. Should be easy. 

…

They ignore how their J looks like a backwards L and how their k is a mess.

Next word: realized. The z will not defeat them this round.

By the time they finish the sentence they’ve created a mess of irregularly shaped letters floating or dipping out of line. Nothing like the elegant script above. They even had to cut yellow in half because they got to close to the edge of the paper and had to start another line. Another line!!

Frustration builds as they notice more and more discrepancies between the two sentences. They drop the quill in frustration and slouch back against their mother. Why can’t they get it right?! 

They just want to be able to speak.

_“Be calm, my child. The skill of script is one that takes patience and practice,”_ she says and they feel one of her massive hands come up and rub between their horns. There is a remnant of their mask splitting in the form of a hairline crack. Its invisible to the naked eye, but soft hands could pick it up easily. They feel her finger lightly trace down the back of it curiously, but she doesn’t say a word, for that is not the focus of this current hour.

_“Everyone struggles with learning how to read and write, for those are skills bug kind would never have without my Wyrm’s light,”_ she says, picking up the paper to get a better look, _“it is not a skill that will come naturally, for it is abstract.”_

Ghost crosses their arms and makes a show of huffing. Fine. But they’re still frustrated. The Queen glances down, even at their minor tantrum she has mirth in her gaze.

_“Would you be delighted to know my Wyrm also struggled with adapting to written words?”_ She asks and Ghost raises their hands to give a so-so gesture, _“he did~. He told me adopted the concept of script from a kingdom far across the Wastes, a place of bells and music. I asked why it was worth the trouble, but he was adamant that Hollownest needed the structure of words to succeed. I saw quite quickly that he was right.”_

Ghost resists the urge to roll their eyes. They could care less about a history lesson about the Pale King, but their mother was still watching so they didn’t. She tilts her head as her voice gets a faint lilt of humor,

_“Not only did he struggle with words, but he often misunderstood them. He struggled with remembering the meanings of words for so long, haha. I still have the first love poem he wrote for me, oh he would wilt in horror if he knew I still had it.”_

Ghost perks up. Oh? The mirth in the Queen’s eyes grow.

_“Would you like to see it?”_

Absolutely. They don’t even have to nod, their curiosity emirates strong through her roots.

Carefully as if she was carrying a delicate flower she wraps her arms securely around Ghost and stands up. One arm underneath their legs and the other across their chest. It would be wrong to describe way she stepped as anything but graceful. It’s like she glides across the tiles like ice.

She takes them out of her garden and to her personal dressing room. The servants and guards say nothing about the imp she hold in her arms like a precious doll and bow as she passes by. It was not a secret in the palace that the Queen suddenly had become fond of the Feral Vessel. Many wondered why. They assumed she would prefer the well-mannered and obedient Pure Vessel. But the Queen is wise. She is a pale being after all. In fact, ever since she had officially taken the Feral Vessel under her wing their chaos became less— well- chaotic. The shenanigry still exists, but it doesn’t happen as frequently as it used to.

The two walk into the Queen’s room which she shuts with a simple lift of her wrist. The door rises from the floor and fits snugly to the top of the frame. She glides over to a table pushed up against a wall next to a window and sits down on the oversized chair built perfectly for her.

Ghost’s anticipation builds as she rummages through the drawers and pulls out a crumpled and worn piece of parchment. She holds it in front of them and cranes down so that she can read it out to them.

_“I lie early every morning to hear your nugatory voice,_

_Whenever you laugh the only word I think is rejoice,_

_You homely presence gives me peace,_

_No other soul feels the same caprice._

_I Love You Root”_

Ghost tilts their head. It doesn’t sound that bad. They look to their mother and tilt their head in confusion. She chuckles and directs their gaze to the first sentence.

_“Nugatory sounds like a descriptor of a sweet- perhaps a nougat, but unfortunately it means nothing like that,”_ She sighs humorously, _“It means useless.”_

Ghost double takes. Then raises a hand to their mask in mock shock. Their mother giggles and points to “homely”.

_“He may have thought this meant ‘comforting,’ but alas, it means unattractive!”_

Ghost’s shoulders shake as they silently laugh. This is great! They also point to the grammatical error in the second line. Their mother laughs with them.

_“And the last one, while he doesn’t say anything more damning, it simply doesn’t make sense. Caprice means desire. No other soul feels the same desire. Desire of what? Honestly, why did I even join my soul to this bug,”_ she says in jest. Ghost shrugs and throws their hands up like “i dont know either” which sends her head rolling back for a hearty laugh.

Ghost feels warmth blossom in their core that doesn’t come from the natural body heat of their mother. They felt similarly when they gave a delicate flower to Elderbug in Dirtmouth and when they found the retired Nailsmith in Sheo’s home. They feel great and amazing. 

They want to tell her that.

But they can’t. Not yet.

It’s frustrating.

They want to communicate freely.

Why can’t they just get good at writing and reading?

The Queen notices their mood sour and refocuses her attention on Ghost.

_“Child? What is the matter?”_

Ghost meets her gaze for a moment before glancing around the room. They spot a quill and paper on her desk but they feel reluctant to reach for them. They sit, hands clenching and unclenching in frustration as words and thoughts beg to get out but cant.

Their Mother hums and watches knowingly. She hoped that the small break in their studies with a small session of making fun of her Wyrm would cheer her child up, but perhaps the root of their frustration was one not entirely based in their inability to succeed immediately. She thinks. She’s seen them do this before…

Ghost blinks as they feel their mother’s hands scoop them from underneath their arms. She lifts them up and places them on her desk. Ghost turns around, tilting their head in question. She scoots forward, lifts up her arms and clenches and unclenches her hands.

_“When you do this, does it mean… you do not know how to explain? You did it once before in my garden when I asked why you lost your fire. Am I right? Or off?”_ She questions. Ghost tilts their head the other way. They did it when they had too many words to say while being unable to say them. They nod. 

She hums in thought, bringing a curled finger up to her chin. Ghost copies her. She raises a brow and they attempt to do the same.

She smiles when she’s struck with an idea.

_“Ghost. Show me with your hands how anger feels,”_ she requests. Ghost tilts their head yet again and looks down and then back up. Show anger with their hands? Does she mean to be destructive? They look around the room to see what they could break without making her upset.

_“No no- show me visually the concept of anger, but with her hands. How does anger feel to you?”_ Ghost looks back at her in confusion, not sure what she’s doing but willing to try anyway. They think. How does anger feel?

They stand there before raising a hand. They spread all of their digits and then clench them tightly. Like a reverse explosion. They look back up at their mother who nods.

_“Now show me what happy feels like to you,”_ They stare. Hm. Happy? They bring both of their hands beneath their face and rise them up quickly. They don’t think that the gesture was clear so they do it again. Both hands quickly rising up, sort’ve like flicking off water droplets but only upwards.

_“How about… disgust?”_ Hmmm. They have to think about this one.

They raise one hand, flat with the pinkie facing toward the queen and the thumb facing towards them. They then turn it inward, like turning away from a disgusting sight.

The Queen shuffles forward again and lightly startles Ghost. What- she looks excited for some reason. She raises her hands.

_“When my Wyrm came to me, asking for a child, I was-“_ She raises both of her hands quickly in front of her like whisking away water droplets and Ghost straightens immediately. Happy.

_“But when he told me the reason why, I was-”_ she splays one hand out and then clenches it tightly like a reverse explosion. Mad, _“and I wanted to refuse him, but I agreed.”_

_“When he came from the abyss with the two of you I felt,”_ Disgust, _“and then I saw that you were not what I expected at all. You acted like a child I desired so I felt,”_ Happy.

The looks at them expectantly after telling her short tale and the reaction is beautiful. Ghost points sharply at her hands and then her mouth. Talked! With hands! Talked with gestures! Gestures that they made-

Oh.

OH!!!

Ghost rapidly points to themself and then their hands and then where their mouth would be. I can talk with my hands?!

The Queen laughs and nods, _“What do you think Ghost?”_

Ghost is practically vibrating. They scamper around her desk, not knowing what to look for but just feeling this overwhelming excitement. Talk with hands!! They spot the quill and paper and reach for it before pausing. They want to show her how much of a great idea this is, write it to her- but they can just use their hands.

They can just use their hands.

They turn to their mother and scramble over. Standing excitedly before her they rapidly shake their hands up and down in front of their face.

_Happy happy happy happy happy!_

She laughs, _“Wonderful! We shall spend the rest of the time in our lesson creating new words in this language of hands. Could you get me that quill and paper? I would love to write down what you create so I may study it later.”_

Ghost does so without a second thought. So many words and gestures are bouncing around in their head.

After giving her the items they point at her.

_“Yes?”_ Ghost nods and then splays out their right hand. They then press their index and middle finger to their palm. They then jerk their head from the gesture to the Queen. It takes her but a moment to understand. It does look like a tree.

_“Is that me?”_ She asks and they nod rapidly. She giggles, _“Oh my child, you have already given me a name, that is wonderful.”_

They look sheepish and then quickly do the gesture again, point to themselves and then wave both hands upward.

_Queen. Me. Happy._

_You make me happy._

They bounce on their feet for just a moment before they are swept up in a giant warm hug. Ghost returns the hug a thousand times over even though their arms are a far cry from wrapping around her completely. She pulls back only enough to nuzzle her nose across the top of their mask.

_“You make me happy too, my child.”_

_._

_._

_._

_._

After their lesson Ghost points to the poem placed on top of the desk and gesture _Want._

“… You may have it only if you bring it back to me in the same condition as it is now.”

Ghost nods, picks it up, folds it carefully into a square and pushes it into one of their eyes. The White Lady blinks- what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sadpugnation drew the most BEAUTIFUL fanart for this fic so i'm gonna put it here where you guys can find it https://sadpugnation.tumblr.com/post/632909892447043584/fan-art-illustration-to


	4. The Future is Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the kitchen staff in the White Palace falls ill to the infection.

The kitchen was sealed off. The infection had seized one of the chefs. Bugs were frantically calling for one of the Great Knights or for a kingsmould, but none of the knights were presently in the palace and the kingsmoulds would not respond to any bug that was not the king. Panic grew quickly among the staff and word rippled like wildfire. The door was barred off with a hurried barricade of furniture while fellow chefs and servants wailed their fear and sorrow.

However a hush fell over the tightly packed crowd as the Feral and Pure Vessel arrived on the scene. Their eerily blank eyes stared at the crowd from their pale ivory masks. The Feral one tilted its head at the crowd before its gaze drifted over to the hastily blocked kitchen. It seemed to pause for a second before its gait sharply increased.

It stopped in front of the door long before it’s sibling and started to undo the barricade with claws and bursts of black magic.

“What is it doing?”

“Keep it away!”

“No don’t touch it! The Queen would have your hand!”

It soon created enough of an instability in one area that the whole barricade collapsed in on itself. The loud clatter made a good portion of the crowd run in terror while the last brave souls watched in mortified curiosity.

They saw the imperfect Vessel freeze as it laid its eyes upon the infection inside. It’s body stilled like a fluke in front of a lumafly lamp and didn’t move a centimeter even when the Pure Vessel joined its side.

The reaction from the Pure Vessel was instantaneous as it drew its nail in a flash. The reaction from the Feral Vessel however was unexpected.

The Feral Vessel took its sibling’s nail with a sudden grab that one would say startled the Pure Vessel if they were a fool to think that it wasn’t hollow. The Pure Vessel looked sharply at the other and jerked its hand hard once to regain control of its nail. Twice…

The Feral Vessel had not taken its gaze off of the listless bug wandering through the squeaky clean kitchen, aimlessly dropping her hands on tools as if she was still preparing a meal. She muttered to herself while her orange tinted eyes stared blankly ahead.

Everyone watched in hushed breaths as the Pure Vessel slowly stopped trying to reclaim its nail and followed the other’s gaze. There was a long tense moment before the nail was relinquished to the Feral Vessel. A wave of whispers washed across the group of onlookers, now steadily growing once more.

The Feral Vessel twisted the nail in its grip once, testing the weight, before it approached the infected bug with no hesitation in its step. Perhaps it was mechanical to a degree. A secret killer when faced with the infection. They watched as those horrific orange eyes turned toward the door as the bug heard the vessel’s approach. They held their breaths the infected chef ran towards the vessel with its arms flailing.

Every bug who watched was surprised as the Vessel perfectly sidestepped the attack. They watched it try to reach out and touch the bug’s head with an open hand but it quickly pulled back as the infected bug opened its mouth to bite the offered hand. The Feral Vessel’s blank mask betrayed no emotion like its sibling.

The nail was raised and plunged deep into the carapace of the infected chef, passing through her shell like paper. Infected hemolymph gushed from the fatal wound as the bug sputtered out an unintelligible death cry. Hemolymph splattered across the Vessel’s cloak and slid down its nail and across its knuckles.

The Feral Vessel remained still as the gurgled words slowly grew softer and softer. A weak hand raised from the infected chef’s side and faintly brushed the Vessel’s cheek before finally falling limp along with the rest of the body.

The silence afterward was oppressive.

With great care that none knew it possessed for being so wild, the Feral Vessel lowered the body to the ground and pulled the nail from its gut. It did not place the nail on its back nor give it to its rightful owner. The Vessel stood like a silent vigil over the corpse.

When it finally stepped out of the kitchen the staff, retainers and summoned guards split like water away from its path. Its head hung low and the perceptive noticed that its hands were shaking. None dared approach it though.

The Pure Vessel startled a few souls by moving to follow its sibling. Some forgot that it was standing there, watching like the rest of them.

Was it trying to get its nail back?

Was it ordered to follow the Feral Vessel?

* * *

The Pure Vessel was not ordered to follow their sibling. 

They weren’t even supposed to follow them to the kitchen. Their original orders were to stand at the ready in their quarters and they were following that order effortlessly.

And then their sibling burst in with arms full of pages of illustrations and words. Father had not told them to do this. Father tells their sibling to do many things but their sibling ignores each one, so their sibling was doing this of their own accord. The Pure Vessel would never dare directly disobey their father. The mere thought of that made their gut twist. They urged their sibling to do the same, but their sibling never listened.

It was frustrating.

They would never act on their frustration. It was wrong to act on any emotion or to feel any emotion.

They were excellent at that as well, burying their emotions deep in the recesses of their mind behind a vault with many keys.

Unfortunate as it was, their sibling somehow held all the keys, and as long as their father or any of his knights or any non-void eyes for that matter weren’t looking, they didn’t exist as the Hollow Knight.

They simply existed as Hollow. A name graciously given to them from their little sister who found their full title too much. They wanted to refuse, as they did not deserve an actual name, but they had no way to protest without expressing themself and eventually it stuck.

So the day started with their sibling bursting into their quarters unannounced and without care. Hollow tried and failed to remain stoic. They heard of their sibling’s unpredictable and sudden bond with their mother but they did not allow themself to be jealous.

…

They were a little jealous.

Their sibling got to be held and coddled. Their mother doted on their sibling and spoiled them. Since their sibling was as strong willed as a vessel could get there was no harm in treating them like the child they were.

Hollow, however, had mostly received cold. They never experienced their father’s hugs. They never were given gifts or treats. The only thing they were given was the expectation to be hollow.

Their sibling was learning how to communicate not only through written script but also through a new language of hands. Their sibling had somehow created “jokes of the inside” with their mother. Their sibling hid underneath their mother’s dress when a prank on their father fueled his ire to a boiling point.

They would hold these against their sibling if their sibling kept these luxuries to themself.

But they shared. 

They brought Hollow into the Queen’s gardens when their father had passed out in his workshop. They shared their notes of words and gestures. They hugged and leaned against Hollow casually and treated Hollow as if they were as boisterous and full of emotion as the Feral Vessel was.

It kept the jealousy at bay.

Hollow watched as “Ghost”- they weren’t surprised their sibling picked a name for themself- splayed out the most recent editions of the new hand signs they had made with mother. Ghost was eager to share the gift of speech once they started their tutelage under their mother. However, sharing that gift proved difficult when neither of them had a natural gift of speech and when Hollow never learned to read, let alone write.

Still, Ghost insisted and Hollow could illustrate. They played tiring games of charades for each hand gesture and Hollow would guess through a drawing. The most useful gestures they had learned so far were, a confused head tilt and a slow nod, and they were used frequently.

When Hornet was there, at least she could yell out guesses for the both of them.

Now Ghost was making a sign with their hand and made sure Hollow was looking. They nodded and then leaned back on their elbows on their nest, grabbing an untouched paper and discarded quill that Ghost provided. Were they ordered to slouch? No, but it was just the two of them and no one else so Hollow wouldn’t get in trouble. 

After getting Hollow’s attention for this sign, Ghost started to pantomime what it was. The gesture itself was a fist swirling in front of them as if they were stirring something. That should’ve been the first obvious hint.

Ghost acted out pinching something with their fingers and sprinkling it onto something invisible. They glanced up to see if Hollow got it. They didn’t. Ghost tried motioning a slicing motion with their hand- like they were holding a nail unsteady? Hollow stared blankly and Ghost huffed.

Ghost then, for some reason reached for Hollow’s nail, and was promptly smacked. Ghost looked at their sibling incredulously and Hollow shook their head firmly. Hollow took their nail and placed it pointedly on their back. Ghost relented and crossed their arms before attempting another vague motion of putting something on and tying it around the waist.

Hollow tilted their head.

Ghost stopped and raised a knuckle to their chin to think. They never sighed or got impatient, they were too stubborn to give up. Learning the sign for “hate” was a confusing and stressful experience that lasted two days, but they eventually learned the sign for an emotion they would never use. Ghost snapped their fingers and tried something else.

Ghost took both of their hands and created a— bush? Their hands mimed something round? Over their head?

Hollow took a piece of paper and idly scribbled down Ghost with a moss creep on their head and showed them. Ghost shook their head and gestured with their hands going up their head and then expanding outward.

Hollow drew a bug with its head exploding.

Ghost doodled a star on the page, not because it was right, but because they liked the drawing.

Hollow drew that overly zealous Gorb next. Ghost thought hard after that one.

Finally Ghost took a paper and Hollow’s quill and drew a bug with a funny looking hat that looked exactly like Ghost was gesturing about. Hollow had no idea what it was and signed, _“Don’t know.”_

They weren’t expecting their sibling’s to look confounded nor to be taken by the wrist and dragged. Hollow jerked their hand back after passing the threshold of their nestroom door. They weren’t supposed to leave their room without being told.

_“No. No,”_ Hollow signed, _“Must stay. No.”_

Ghost tried to grab their wrist again and Hollow pulled it back before they could. Ghost huffed and started signing,

_“Come. Must show. Important. Forget order.”_

_“No. Must stay. Explain? Explain?”_

_“Explain hard. Show is better. Upset you don’t know.”_

Hollow tilted their head.

_“Upset? Explain Upset?”_

Ghost’s hands clenched and unclenched in their familiar way as they tried to put their racing thoughts into their hands. They had to think of which signs Hollow knew. Ghost started and stopped multiple times before they huffed again.

_“Hollow should know. Important. Very Important! Upset Hollow don’t know. Come. Forget order,”_ Ghost adamantly signed.

Hollow hesitated, they weren’t supposed to disobey a direct order, but Ghost really wanted them to know what that gesture was along with whatever that bug in the goofy hat was. Still, if they left they would be in, _“Trouble.”_

Ghost shook their head, effortlessly understanding what Hollow meant with just one sign, _“Ghost in trouble. Hollow not in trouble. Ghost always to blame. Good. Hollow innocent. Good.”_

Hollow stared at the other’s hands. They made a point. Hollow was never blamed for any of Ghost’s pranks or shenanigans, even the ones they subtly aided in to seek Ghost’s approval. Ghost was given punishments and orders, in which they were never phased in the slightest. Still… this would be the first time they intentionally disobeyed.

_“Order Pure Vessel,”_ Hollow signed and Ghost stiffened.

_“Order Pure Vessel, follow,”_ they signed again because then this way they wouldn’t be disobeying. They would just be ordered to do something else. Ghost was displeased in a way that only pale beings and fellow vessels could sense. It was obvious Ghost wasn’t comfortable with Hollow’s loophole, but Hollow didn’t know what else to suggest. Eventually Ghost relented.

_“Hollow, follow,”_ Ghost signed. Hollow tilted their head slightly.

_“Pure Vessel,”_ they corrected.

_“Hollow,”_ Ghost signed sharply.

_“Pure Ve-“_

_“Hollow_ ,” Ghost signed Hornet’s given name for them one more time before snatching up Hollow’s hand to drag them to somewhere in the palace before they could try to correct Ghost again.

When they reached the kitchen, Hollow finally saw those bugs with the funny hats. How had they never seen them around before? And why were they all standing in front of a barricaded door?

They witnessed their sibling tear down the barricade and let their confusion drive them to look inside. The orange glow of the infection shook them to their core. When Ghost grabbed their nail and refused to let it go, Hollow had half a mind to whack them over the head, but with so many bugs staring, that would be a blatant show of will. That thought lasted only for a second as they noticed their sibling trembling.

Thats when they saw that Ghost had not taken their eyes off of the bug inside the pristine room with many cabinets and strange mechanical boxes. Hollow followed their gaze and finally _looked_ at the infected bug. It’s body was swollen and it was wandering around aimlessly, but it had that poofy hat and an apron. Hollow stilled.

Was… was this who Ghost meant to show them?

Hollow didn’t know Ghost had friends, however they couldn’t add that to the list of jealousy that they had deep within their mind. If this was Ghost’s friend- seeing them infected- Hollow knew Ghost embraced their emotions like a second shell. Their trembling grip instantly made more sense.

They let the nail go and watched the scene play out before them. After Ghost had dealt with the infected bug, Hollow followed them closely as if they had been personally ordered to by their father. They were being risky- showing will like this- maybe no one would notice.

The next few minutes were painfully long. They passed by multiple retainers who gasped or stumbled back in shock at the sight of Ghost with a bloodied nail. Anxiety welled up unbidden in Hollow’s gut, but they did not dare leave their sibling alone.

A few more moments later and they recognized the path that Ghost was taking through the labyrinth of the White Palace’s halls. They were going toward the King’s workshop. That anxiety grew triple fold- why were they going to disturb their father?

Hollow wanted to question and protest, but the way Ghost continued to tremble kept Hollow’s want to act nonexistent. What do they do? How do they help? Ghost knew many things Hollow didn’t- maybe they knew father could do to help.

* * *

The King was leaning over his current experiment, a modified wingsmould with the sigils ‘TAKE’ and ‘DELIVER’ imbued into its inner shell. He had been considering a faster delivery system ever since the City of Light, now starting to called the City of Tears as water had been raining down for weeks without end, had been erected and the population had become more numerous. This idea had been pushed back time and time again to make way for newer or more pressing projects. When the infection began to ripple though his kingdom all of his projects were put on hold indefinitely until he found a solution to cure the Radiance’s influence.

He then found and created his solution. His Hollow Knight. After seeing that porcelain mask emerge out of the Abyss, he remembered that tidal wave of relief washing away the overwhelming pressure of Hallownest’s impending end. Now that he had the Hollow Knight, the cure for the Radiance, all he had to do was wait for it to mature.

However, the wait was torturous.

It was doubly torturous knowing that it wouldn’t work. His foresight predicted that the Knight would fall to the infection.

So he ignored his foresight, for what else could he do? There were still possibilities where the Knight succeeded, so he hoped for once that luck would be on his side.

He found himself toiling aimlessly. He paced the palace halls. He stayed up late, too anxious to dream, to let himself relax. He made conversations without having an end goal. He wandered into rooms without reason. He couldn’t take his mind off of the Pure Vessel. It was being trained. The dreamers were standing by. The seals had already been drafted and tested. There was nothing else to do but wait.

He would have continued like that if his Lady hadn’t admonished him for “wandering into her room four times in one day like a listless tiktik.” It had really been five times (but who was counting), but when he heard her words he knew he had to busy his hands to keep his mind off of the state of Hallownest.

So he delved into his mountain of abandoned projects and found one that had a good balance of having room for creativity, repetitive testing that would require his entire focus, and be simplistic enough that he wouldn’t be easily frustrated. Delivery moulds it was.

Sigils in place, the King reached down to open one of his drawers and pulled out two pairs of gloves made with specialized materials. This next part of the creation process required safety, something he had learned the hard way with how his hands and parts of his arms had been permanently stained a cold black. His pale light still flowed through the veins of his fingertips yet couldn’t escape past the wall of black stuck like tar to his carapace. 

He had only recently regained the ability to feel warmth through his hands. He was not going to taint himself with void to such an extent again.

Gloves in place, the King took another step of precaution by donning a protective mask. He made sure not all parts of it fit to his face. Even though it wasn’t imbued with a sense of personality, he did not want to risk placing a well-fitted mask on his head. Even though he was a King, a mask could change anyone to their core. He knew was being ludicrous, as it was just a mask for protection against any errant splashes of the void he was about to handle, but recent events had humbled his hubris and made him overly prone to caution.

It would make Herrah laugh, he was being cautious of a mask he was using to be cautious of the void.

He waved these thoughts away and pulled the pitcher of sealed void over. With a quick flick of a gloved finger the seals were dismissed and the void was open to the air. His hidden mandibles reflexively cracked open to scent the air in a habit hard to forget. The void had no smell or presence, but when one tends to be invested in focus it’s distracting to repress small reflexes.

But perhaps it was his old reflex that cued him into an unwanted visitor as he was halfway through infusing the void with the wingsmould shell. He at first thought it was an exothermic reaction of the sigils somehow reacting badly to the void, but he saw no smoke. He tasted ash in the air and was perplexed. How could the void ignite a reaction to the sigils if its very nature was to absorb?

His rising confusion was put to rest with a short, definitely kingly, scream as red eyes peeked up at him from the other side of the desk. The void he was so carefully handling splashed across the faux mask he wore. 

“Finally!” The herald of kingdoms’ ends exclaimed. The King clutched a hand over one of his many hearts, as the black and crimson bug stood up straight and laughed at his masked face, “My dear Wyrm, your lack of awareness is nigh incomparable to only your pale light.”

“Grimm,” he bit back a growl. As if the nuisance of that failed vessel wasn’t enough, now he had the joy of conversing with another annoying vessel, “To what do we owe the _pleasure.”_

“There is no need to extend pleasure, I know how much you missed my presence with that passionate gaze in your eye,” said passionate gaze was of the irritated variety.

“You were missed as much as a putrid fluke,” the King delicately placed his fingers on the sides of the mask and removed it to inspect the damage, feeling less of a fool now for taking an extra step of safety. If hadn’t worn the mask the splash of void would have covered half of his face and possibly rendered him blind in one eye.

“Aww, I would have preferred a corpse creeper. Flukes do well inciting nightmares into weak willed bugs, but the creatures of Deepnest are magnificent nightmare fuel for the heart,” Grimm pokes at the half-filled wingsmould and was promptly slapped by a gloved hand,” -ouch. So are you ever going to solve that growing problem in the sewers or are you going to let it rot through the cement?”

“Why are you here, Grimm?” The Pale King bit and tossed the mask in a bin of other contaminated items, “we didn’t summon for you.”

“Still using the royal ‘we’? I thought we were past that point, friend,” Grimm pouted and held a hand to his chest in mock hurt.

“We are not friends with the Troupe.”

“Bah- if we weren’t friends you would have long disposed of the thread the Troupe has to Hallownest. Many other monarchs have chased me off for even approaching them like this!” Grimm laughs, “You either value my conversation or you simply don’t know how to toss your weight around as king.”

He had half the mind to do that exact thing right now- but suddenly his foresight thundered to the forefront of his mind. His skill of foresight was normally a constant pressure in the back of his mind that he could focus on whenever his mind wandered. It rarely seized his full attention in a way that made him outwardly flinch.

His foresight never provided him one clear answer. In fact in gave him endless answers, some with similar endings being more numerous than others. It took him decades as a young grub to grasp what he could do with the information his foresight gave him. He learned how to use his foresight by preparing for the most probable futures as they were more likely to happen.

So the bombshell of seeing a sudden increase in the probability of the infection becoming cured from Hallownest nearly cracked his perfectly neutral face. The futures of the Hollow Knight failing to contain the Radiance were disappearing like geo falling into a banker’s account.

“This place has turned into such a mess, hasn’t it?” Grimm’s raspy voice splintered through his thoughts. The Pale King blinked like a startled weaver before clicking his tongue.

“We do not know of what you speak of. Our workshop is frequently cleaned and organized,” he said with reproachfulness in his tone.

“Hm? Oh, no, I don’t mean this place. I’m talking about out there,” Grimm gestured in the direction of the City of Light, “in the streets. In the tunnels. In the mind.”

The cursed bug turned to the pale being with a raised brow, “You’ve gotten yourself into quite a predicament with the Radiance, haven’t you?”

A wrinkle prominently placed itself underneath the Pale King’s brow, “it is none of your concern.”

“Is it not? This infection is one of the mind, a battleground I am familiar with. I could extend my skills-“

“We will not curse this land with another infection,” the King spat.

“ _Infection?_ I am merely extending an offer of aid, my Wyrm,” Grimm squinted, offense tinting his words.

“Aid? From _you?_ Your very existence persists from the husks of fallen Kingdoms. Your aid would only further your own goals for the ritual. We will not allow Hallownest to become kindling for your abhorrent rebirth.”

“What has gotten into you as of late?” Grimm exclaimed, “I extended my service as an act of good will, but you spit upon my offered hand.”

“ _I_ will not leave the fate of Hallownest up to a trickster,” the King switched to using singular pronouns without thinking and pushed himself up with his hands on the table, “I will not allow another god to influence my subjects!”

Grimm scoffed, “Does your lack of awareness go hand in hand with your lack of critical thinking?! It doesn’t take a scholar to predict that your pretty little pet kingdom will crumble into the dust from which you built it. Have you become blind to your foresight as well?”

“My foresight and my knowledge are unquestionable!”

“Then how do you see a future of you succeeding?”

“What do _you_ know of what I see?! How could _you_ possibly help? You are a scavenger of the wastelands, wandering from place to place to feed yourself on the scraps left behind. You only know of what causes civilizations to fall. You do not care of how to save them! What skills- what knowledge could you possibly provide that I don’t already have!?”

Grimm’s eyes narrowed dangerously, “perhaps nothing. Perhaps I would only hasten the destruction of your subjects. Perhaps I was wrong in wanting to help an old friend, but you have changed.”

The King was about to bite out a retort when his foresight witnessed another colossal twist of thousands of futures. Terrifyingly fast, the futures in which Hallownest survived began to disappear like weaver threads burning up in fire. What-? Why- why was this-?

_Grimm?_

_Grimm was the key?_

“This was a waste of my time. I thought I would try something new, saving a Kingdom and finally getting at my sibling in a way that matters, two maskflies with one stone, but I guess I will return to what I do best.”

How could _Grimm_ be the savior of Hallownest? Why didn’t Grimm’s presence trigger these possibilities before!? There had to be more-

“So I will return to my specialty. Farewell, Wyrm, I will return when the dust of folly settles over your once pristine kingdom and gather the flames of-“

“Wait!” He suddenly exclaimed and held his hand out as Grimm’s cloak started to alight in his tell-tale way of blinking away. Grimm’s baleful crimson eyes that widened in surprise turned unamused. The King hesitated- anger shying away too quickly. He was coming across as desperate. However he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t.

“Wait,” he tried again. Grimm stared at him long and hard. Critical and measuring. The King rarely felt small, but the intensity of Grimm’s gaze burned into his own as if it were an active fire. He maintained eye contact and ignored the conflict that built in his gut, but if for some reason Grimm could help him, he should— he would swallow his pride.

“What are you getting at?” Grimm hissed, “you are unlike yourself, Wyrm.”

The King’s fists clenched hard before he forced himself to relax. His foresight predicted Hallownest’s fall, but the possibilities of it being saved had stopped dwindling.

He must be sensible.

“I… I’m sorry,” he started, sitting back down heavily. Grimm’s hard gaze didn’t change. He felt a sigh pass through his mouth before he could catch it.

“This-… plague has affected my judgement. It has been hard to settle down to sleep, for every moment wasted is another life lost,” He said quietly and finally let his gaze fall from Grimm’s scrutiny, “I have spent every waking hour thinking of every possibility to combat the Radiance’s influence. I have been managing food shortages- collapsed stagways- negotiations with Deepnest- children- Isma, one of my most trusted knights has disappeared and is nowhere to be found.”

He unintentionally sagged in his chair. He didn’t intend to go into depth about his troubles, but one crack in the dam will make it burst. He was yelling at Grimm before and now he was offloading all of his woes onto his back.

Where did his common sense go?

“The Mushroom Clan has begun showing signs of infection as well- and as a community who pride themselves in one shared mind I… I fear I have already lost them. The coliseum of fools have been trapping infected bugs to use in their fights and I’ve had to direct soldiers to aid grieving family members who cannot find their loved ones. I feel doubt rising in whispers of my rule. They are all looking to me to save them and I am trying. _I’m trying._ My best is not enough. I’ve looked in every feasible direction for a cure for this infection. The solution I’ve found is _flawed_ , but it’s the only one I have.”

He let out a shuddered breath, his once booming voice now a tired whisper, “This has been… a nightmare of grand proportions not even you would be able to conjure. I have changed, Grimm. I can scarcely remember the last time I laughed.”

His light dimmed to a state where it was comparable to a mere lumafly, “Forgive me. I should not have talked to you in the way I have. You did not deserve my ire.”

The silence permitted in the room like void. The Pale King couldn’t lift his gaze from his permanently stained hands. He had only shared a fraction of the chaos he had endured under this catastrophe, yet he already felt so numb.

A hum from the Troupe Master before him coaxed his attention back upward. Grimm was no longer lit with scarlet flame and was instead standing there with an unreadable gaze.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but was unsure of how. The King bit back another sigh,

“What is it?”

Grimm started and halted for a moment before he finally asked, “Since when did you become a father?”

The King’s mood didn’t have a chance to delve further into his growing pit of misery when the door to his workshop was suddenly opened, startling both occupants inside. The seals on them could only be undone by either him or his wife and he was not prepared to let his Root see him in this state.

So imagine his surprise when the Feral Vessel stood in the doorway with a nail. Surprise turned to anger at the sight of the Pure Vessel’s nail in the hands of the wrong owner. Anger turned to confusion as he saw the Pure Vessel standing behind the Feral one. 

Confusion turned to alarm when he saw the infected hemolymph dried on their cloak and nail.

“What is the meaning of this?” He demanded.

* * *

Grimm stared at the odd sight before him. He did not need to question what it was. He felt the familiar hum of soul of the Wyrm and Root combined together underneath a thick blanket of void. A vessel. Intriguing. So this was the Wyrm’s solution. This somewhat answered the Wyrm’s reference to managing children just a few moments ago. Did he send his own eggs into the abyss below to create a perfect vessel of pale light and void to contain the infection?

As long as it wouldn’t dream- as long as it didn’t have a will of its own, perhaps it would work.

Is that why there were two, then?

Grimm curiously glanced over the both of the vessels before him. One with a dark colored veil, with a nail stained with hemolymph and the other with a pale veil and armor, unable to settle its gaze on it’s sibling, the wyrm or Grimm. 

He assumed the one stained with blood was the less emotional one, but he was quickly disproven in a way he couldn’t have predicted.

The vessel dropped its nail which clattered against the tiled floor and rolled a small distance. It stepped forward once, dark and hollow eyes locked right onto Grimm. It’s hands twitched. Grimm hummed his interest,

“Why hello there young vessels, is there something you need from your father? I was just about to leave-“

Grimm didn’t miss how the Wyrm’s head jerked an inch toward him. Truly, he was behaving oddly.

However, the moment he began to speak, the first vessel resumed their path toward the Troupe Master. Grimm watched in intrigued silence until it came up to his knees and wrapped its arms around his legs.

“Ah-?”

“What?” The Wyrm said in a dull, confused tone. Grimm quickly turned to the King and shrugged his shoulders with a wild look.

Grimm’s growing desire to pry the vessel off and question them was whisked away in a small moment when he felt the vessel’s arms tighten around his legs. It was shaking.

What is this curious little creature… but a child?

Grimm blinked down at the vessel. Rarely did anyone seek him for comfort- much more rarely a complete stranger- but the way the little vessel held onto his legs and ducked its head against his thigh reminded him of his own little one. Grimm glanced over at the Wyrm once more before he carefully leaned down to pluck up the vessel underneath its- their arms and held them to his chest.

“There there, young one,” he cooed softly as they quickly wrapped their arms around his neck. This close, he could practically taste the potential nightmares brewing in the back of this vessel’s mind.

They were _pungent._ There were so many horrors and griefs haunting their mind that Grimm nearly forgot he was holding a child in his arms. The fear of pain. The fear of death. The fear of loss. The _grief_ of loss. The fresh grief of helplessness. There were so many nightmare influences swarming the vessel’s mind, but none of them were as strong as the fear of failure. 

How- what happened to this little thing that their mind had become their own prison?

Grimm sent a scathing glare toward the King whose eyes widened in reproach,

“What?!”

“What do you mean, _what?_ What have you done to this poor thing?! It’s mind is an echo chamber of fear and sorrow, not unlike yours,” Grimm admonished his friend, rubbing the vessel’s back as if it were his own child. The Wyrm looked taken-back.

“Excuse- what?! This vessel has been nothing, but a curse on the kingdom ever since it ascended with it’s sibling. It has defaced the walls of the palace, stolen my knight’s charms and weapons, interrupted countless meetings, taught it’s gendered sibling its devilry and now it is seeking comfort from you, a literal representation of nightmare, and you have the _audacity_ to blame _me_ for causing it fear and sorrow!?” The Wyrm exclaimed, “This vessel has not hesitated in any tick of a second to let me know it hates me. I have done nothing to it yet it insists in making my life more difficult than it already is! Even on the day it emerged it created a scent so fowl in the main hall that the cleaning staff could not enter it for weeks without gagging!”

Grimm listened as he dutifully pet the child in his arm. He noticed its shoulders shivering separately from the rest of it’s shakes and he realized quickly enough that the child was laughing.

This was certainly a new perspective.

The Wyrm growled, “What you sense in their mind is another one of their tricks. I have done nothing to them.”

The vessel parted one of its hands from hugging Grimm’s neck to display its middle finger prominently before the King who’s eyes narrowed.

“I don’t even know what that one means,” he hissed, “you show me that one frequently enough that you should engage in the bare minimum and actually tell me, Feral Vessel.”

The child giggled into Grimm’s neck and returned to holding onto him. That quick interaction told the Troupe Master countless things, many of which turned his wrath toward the King into mirth and affection for this vessel in his arms.

“Feral Vessel? That isn’t much of a name isn’t it?” He spoke, letting the tone of his intrigue be directed to the vessel who shook their head, “would you be able to tell me?”

The vessel paused and then nodded. Curiously, as Grimm sensed, the vessel’s fears were beginning to disappear or lessen. Not only that, but their tense form had started to relax into his embrace and they readjusted their grip to something more comfortable. That fear of failure was a mere mite compared to the hercules size it was before.

What he would give to know what they were thinking- and Grimm had barely just met them.

* * *

Ghost kept their head tucked into Grimm’s collar, inhaling the scent of smoke and fire as if it was from a vintage candle. The sweltering warmth of Grimm’s arms and body sunk into their limbs like a heavy heated blanket.

It was Grimm.

Grimm was here.

Grimm had access to a part of the dream realm.

Maybe they could reach the Radiance through Grimm.

They had to try.

It had a chance of working.

If it didn’t-

Then they would at least be able to see the Grimmchild.

They let themself relax in the nightmare vessel’s arms, ignoring the conversation sparking between Grimm and the King. The bottomless hole of anguish in their gut that settled there when they stabbed Annebeetle through her thorax- one of the first bugs that treated Ghost as a living being without being prompted to- was gradually disappearing and becoming less painful. 

They couldn’t think of her- not yet. When they stabbed her it felt like they were stabbing themself. Her fall to the infection was a direct result of them forgetting that they were running out of time. They and Hollow were already adolescents in their second molts- how long would it be until they both reached their final molts and became adults? How long did they have until Hollow was sealed in the Black Egg?

However, Grimm was here. They had something now. They just had to figure it out.

But until then, a nap sounded nice.

* * *

The Pale King choked mid sentence as he foresaw countless possibilities of the infection being killed from the inside out. The possibility of Hallownest still falling was still there, but it was a mere one quarter of the grand total where the rest predicted Hallownest’s survival.

“Ah- they just fell asleep. Oh dear, that won’t be good for them, I will only bring them terrors. Hm, but they look quite peaceful. Strange little thing. Are they often so blindly trustworthy?”

“Grimm.”

“Yes?”

The Pale King threaded his fingers together and rested his forehead against his knuckles.

“How is it possible that my foresight predicts that you and my offspring have a sudden chance at defeating the Radiance?”

“I haven’t the faintest. Perhaps we can talk about it later. Maybe you can introduce me to your other child who has been standing there oh so patiently?”

The King glanced over to the doorway to indeed catch the Hollow Knight flicking its head back and forth between the occupants in the room before freezing on him as it met his gaze. It stiffened like a child who got caught and the King felt his heart faintly twist.

What was he going to do with the Pure Vessel now, with this other future unfolding before his very eyes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Payasita for the concept of how PK's foresight works! I loved the idea that PK sees multiple futures at the same time and that he just maneuvers around them by preparing for the most probable outcome. 
> 
> Also one of those pictures is inspired by a piece of fanart dovalore drew for this au! https://dovalore.tumblr.com/post/635113919898402816/hmmmmmm-inspired-by-chipper-smols-feral-vessel


End file.
